The Kidnapping
by qsmadness007
Summary: Arnaud kidnaps Eberts
1. Default Chapter

Iman Fanfic  
"Kidnapping."  
By ohfan007  
Author's note and disclaimer: this story is written from multiple views, as it is necessary to bring the story completely to you. Some things may be repeated by the each side, but I shall not go back and write a whole scene over from the other character's view , unless it is unquestioning that no other solution can be done to help me paint the full portrait.The misspelling are not wrong, for the most part, since that is the spelling of the characters. The Invisible Man characters are not owned by me but scifi-channel, and what ever big wig character owns it.  
Dedicatied to God, the cast, my family, and my two Iman Buddies, defohnfemme, and Jordan_radcliffe  
  
  
  
  
Part 1: de ringing fohn  
  
"I could rise neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings, the six o'clock alarm would never ring, but it rings ..."   
At six, O' clock, I am woken by the loud blaring of my alarm clock, and that dreadful song. I have no offense against the monkeys, they just aren't my cuppa. Why does the public radio station have to switch to oldies so early in the morning. At Four I was lulled gently to sleep by Mozart's fifth and now I must wake to "Daydream Believer." That just seems tres fou, non?  
  
I shouldn't worry though, today, is going to be a fun day. I am going to have a little fun with that stubborn Agency. (I haven't decided if at times like this I should thank Le Dieu for making me permanently invisible.I guess it depends on one's perspective, n'est-ce-pas? Quelquefois c'est un bien chose, mais quelquefois c'est un mal chose) I am going to capture Albert Eberts, it is not to break into their computers this time, but to make them pay me the monie, they stole from me, from my casino. I am glad they did not find the real reason, behind the casino. It was a gathering place for terrorists. I was forming new alliances, which I am truly glad I did. (Most of those terrorists were tres foux, though.They thought they could do things there way, but they was most definitely mistaken, as their is only my way.)  
  
One of the terrorists, who was crazy, taught me how to apply this marvelous torture device to humans, (he volunteered to be my guinea pig, though I think he did forget that.) I think I shall utilizes this on Eberts, I would rather hear Darien scream, but it may be fun to break that little mousy man down, and extracte all his information from him.   
  
I get dressed quickly, in my fake suit and skin, today I am a stock broker, with a cïtron, a beautiful blue one that someone just gave me after he died, and Albert should be out jogging. (I don't know why, he does, he only does it once a week, from my sources, but I guess when you do as much as le petit souris, you have no time for the exercise on a regular basis.)   
  
I drive to his street, and spot him walking outside in his suit. He looks as if he just got up, he must have no time for jogging. He collects the morning paper, then goes back inside for his briefcase. I park the car, crookedly, and take off my skin. I hop out of the car in all my invisible glory, and run near his door, and wait. When he steps out I grab him. He struggles a bit. "Darien, this is not funny." he whimpers. I laugh in his ear. "Ce n'est pas Fawkes, c'est ton ami."  
  
He pales a little, and we go to my car.  
  
End of part 1 


	2. ch. 2

Kidnapping  
Part 2: Le petit souris  
  
"Ce n'est pas Fawkes, c'est ton ami."   
This was to my near death, these words ran my blood cold, and it was the only time in my life, I was not thankful I had decided to pick French up as a language.  
  
Before, I could do anything, Arnaud had dragged me to his car, and for some odd reason, almost as a safety precaution he made sure I was buckled in the car first. He tied my hands up next, with strong rope, it made my wrists sore.   
  
"This will be the last time you see your neighborhood, petit souris." He says with a laugh, and then he covers my eyes with a blindfold.  
  
Anger rages inside of me, a mouse, why must I always be the mouse. Why can't I ever be the lion, and not chicken out. I know I am weak, but my mind is sharp, but it always removes it self in times like this. What good are you? I think You're going to get me killed, and probably today. Then, it hits me. I need to stay still, so I can conserve the little energy I have left.  
  
Arnaud pulls the car out jerkingly, it bumps erradically, almost as if he had parked on the sidewalk. I listen to his breathing, it is almost as heavy as mine is after my jog. I have a feeling I would have been taken enroute if I had actually woken up this morning. That may be the only good thing out of my housemates partying the night away. We pull off the road quickly. I hear him step into a phone booth, he has hit the phone with something, making it ring loudly in the air.  
  
I try to catch my breath, I have also noticed I have started to sweat. I close my eyes and imagine myself in a land of happiness.  
  
I snap out of my meditation about ten minutes later. Heavy footsteps can be heard on the concrete, I think its concrete anyway, it may be gravel. If I am correct, we may be at Ligget's drug store, then it is gravel.  
  
The door is opened, and I feel Arnaud's presences above meHe places a hand on me so I don't fall out. He is blocking me from anyone's view. "Guess what, you actually get to see where we're going, we'll un peu." He says untying the blindfold, and putting in its place, heavily shaded sunglasses. My eyes begin to ache, as it tries to adjust to the sunlight, but is brought back into darkness.Since the glass are so dark, it is hard to determine any shapes clearly. I do notice I can see Arnaud now, he must be utilizing a latex suit again, I just pray its not of me this time.   
  
I can make out a crude smile on his face. "Be glad their are people getting supicous. Stupid feds, they believed me though when I said you were having eye problems, and you just needed some sunglasses." He laughs in my ear, and walks away from his postion, and slams the door harshly, it makes the whole car shake, and my shoulder aches. Why did he have to place me right next to the door. I hold my cry of pain inside, I have a horrible feeling it will just get worse then that. I hear him laugh at me, and he walks around to the other side of the car, getting in.  
  
He drives away slowly at first. If Feds had really been at Liggit's,( which didn't suprise me much, it was a hangout of theirs) and they had believed him, I was in for a lot of trouble. And if their superior came by, and he heard about them looking at a person blindfolded, and believing he just needed dark glasses, they would be fired. That made me a little happy. especially if they were FBI, the FBI hated the agency. We drive about a mile away, then I feel him jerk the car to fourth.  
  
Please, God, let a cop pull us over.  
  
end of part 2 


	3. ch. 3

Kidnapping  
Part 3 : de flying fohn  
  
I hit it in to fourth gear, as soon as we get away from those bete FBI agents. I am glad they believed me, I was almost caught there.I know there is a posted speed limit on this road, but I don't care.That is the least they can get me for, and I will be out of that faster than they can sing "La Marseille." I turn the curves sharply, it amusing me to watch Eberts bang into the door. No the left curves though, I don't want the idiot coming any closer to me then he is. Its a good thing I buckled him in. I may have been seriously damaged if he had hit me. He may be a mouse, but he is a heavy mouse.  
  
"Are you enjoying yourself, Albie?" I say laughingly.  
  
He stares out the window, not answering me. I laugh, I know he can barely see out of those sunglasses, that's why I bought them. He may think he knows where we are going but he has no idea. I pull sharply right, and he bangs extremely hard against the door, this time he cries out in pain I relish this, it sounds just like him, a squeaking of a mouse. I am circling now, and I drive the opposite way as before. I love driving it makes me feel free, I make a sharp left, keeping my hand on his shoulder so he doesn't slide into me. This Cïtroen seat , as most Cïtroen I've seen, is very small. It is to easy for him to slide. He flinches at my touch, as he resents me touching him. If I knew better I'd say he was acting like a femme when they are danger. I laugh at this. That amuses me, I can easily see him acting like a woman.  
  
This is one of my favourite roads, it goes right by the agency, and it turns south after going north for what seems like forever. By the time, we get to my HQ, I think that's what they call it on those cheap spy movies, he'll not know which way we have traveled. I wonder if I should have gagged him, it not necessary for right now, since he's being a good, quiet ,little souris. I may not need the gag in the glovebox at all. I smile, especially after I hook him up to my little torture machines, I hope he has a powerful scream, I want to hear it echo through the hallway. This situation reminds me of a book I read, "The Partner." by the american John Grisham, too bad it was fiction, I'd love to meet some of those people, but I will be able to live the real thing. I think I will get the torture on cassette, like the ones in the book, I'd love to see Borden's expression when he recieves that.  
  
I turn on the Cd player, I need some music to help aid in the feeling of flying I get whenever I drive in fourth gear. I have a Bizet Cd in. Eberts turns towards the music, he reconizes it. He looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn't.  
  
"Do you like the music, Albie?"  
  
"Yes, Bizet is a good composer." He comments. His answer is quiet and frightened.  
  
"Tu est un amoureur de tout la musique, non?"  
  
"Oui, plus de musique." He answers. His french sounds very authentic. I am not suprised though.  
  
"Ahh, maybe if you are good,little mouse, I will let you listen to some Cds before you die." I will not really kill him, but it is interesting watching animals in fear. And Eberts is a mouse nevertheless. In another life, we may have been friends perhaps, he shares many of the things I have in common. I get an idea. Maybe after I torture him, I can get him to work with me, he does possess some knowledge that could be valuble. I will make no decision on that matter yet. He may not have much left to offer when the torturing is over. I have heard stories of torture victims, going insane, -or- a catanoic, a vegatable as the Americans say.  
  
"That ..would...be..nice...Thank you." He is hesitant because of his fear I think. I wish I knew what was running through his head.   
  
I smile as I see we are coming near the agency. I resort to my tour guide mood, which is something that disturbes me slightly, I have no idea why I am able to pull off that so well. (Tour guides are some of the few people whom scare me.) "Coming up on our right is your beloved agency.)   
  
Eberts frowns. He is probably squinting trying to see. "Is there ...something you... need at ...the ...agency?"  
  
"Not now my little one, but shortly, don't worry I won't be looking like you when I go, and I will not make you do anything. Tu sera mort."  
  
He pales, I do not think he wants to accept he will die soon. He is petrified of it. I can sense it. I sense people's fear easily. I have a feeling he is also afraid of clowns, who wouldn't be, I may take him to the cirque to go see some before the torture, to get him in a fearful frame of mind.   
  
He continues to stare out the window. I heard he whimpers, I wonder what I have to do to make him do that. I smile, and we drive on.  
  
End of part 3 


	4. ch.4

Kidnapping  
Part 4 : le souris triche  
  
Carmen usually relaxes me, but I am scared stiff. He wants to kill me, this maniac wants to kill me. And he makes it a joke of riding by the agency. I don't want to die, but I am prepared to die if I must.  
  
I figure he will torture me though, I know I will probably reveal something about the agency I shouldn't. Not during the torture, but if I sleep after it. I talk in my sleep sometimes, especially after traumatic, I only know this because my house mates thought it would be cute to tape me, after I was mugged last year. To prove to me I talk in my sleep.I wish my house mates should grow up sometimes, especially Jaden, we're all in our thirties now. But why am I worrying over whether -or- not they will ever grow up. I am about die here. I wish I could open the door handle, and just jump out, it would hurt a little but I would be free.  
  
What am I thinking, Arnaud would just come after me again. Damn it, why hadn't I just stayed with the Irs, I wouldn't have to worry about terrorists, just insane people who could easily be stopped by the police. Not like I was ever happy there. But I am defintely not happy to be working at the agency this moment. Why do I have to die the mouse, why was I never able to be the lion, my mother said I could be.  
  
After the incident when I was nine, my mother said I had to hide behind the mouse exterior, as she does. Why did you make me listen to her, God? I should of been the lion, especially after high school, I should of demanded more. Then maybe my dad would have told me before last year, I had been accepted to Art school, and I could have married Claudia by now, and have a family. There is so much I have been cheated out of. Now, I am here with this raving lunatic, who has no regard for anyone. Why does he have to kidnapp me again? This is the second time, last time I almost got blown up. And this time there is no telling, what have I done to deserve this.  
  
I am not mad at you, God, I just wish you would intervene here, I am disappointed, more in myself then you. I had so much potential, why have I failed myself, why must everyone help tighten my noose of destruction. Why is everyone out to harm me in some way? Why must they find me amusing?  
  
I frown deeply, I squint and try to look at these surroundings, I know this road eventually turns south, I have a feeling by the time we get to where ever we are going, I won't know which direction we are going. Arnuad probably wants it that way.  
  
I curse myself, mentally, Albert, you are a fool, you always will be. Why have you ever believed in hope anyway, you've known all along, there is no such thing as hope, and that is the cross God has given you to bear.   
  
I sigh, Arnaud takes another sharp turn, my right shoulder is really throbbing now, and I can not feel my wrists anymore because of the ropes. Maybe I should concentrate on ways to show him I can behave, maybe he will let me live longer. 


	5. ch.5

Part 5: de annoyed then amused fohn  
author's note: Lucrezia J. De Vere is not my character my friend , defohnfemme, has let me borrow her.  
  
As we are traveling my cell phone rings, probably another one of my thugs, I tell them to call only in emergancies, and they call over all sorts of stupid things.  
  
"Can you reach that annoying thing between your feet?"  
  
Eberts turns to me, he had dazed out. "Excuse me?"  
  
This annoys me, hes spacing out. "You hear that thing ringing between your feet. I know you have the capibility to move your hands a bit, can you pick it up, and hand it to me, Monsieur, s'il vous plait."  
  
"Oh, oui, pardon." he says and akwardly bends down to pick it up. He almost drops it as he picks. He mutters he's sorry, and hands me the phone.  
  
I don't look at the caller id but just hit the on button. "Bonjour, de theil, how may I help you?" I hate being cordial on this phone, especially since nintey percent of the people who call are my men. I do hope it is someone who deserves my cordiality.  
  
"Bonjour, amour," I smile as I hear the charming voice, definetly someone who deserves it.  
  
"Bonjour, Lucrezia, comment ca va?" I hope she has the Hq ready for our guest.  
  
"I am well, Mr. de Fohn, the room for our guest is ready." Her voice is cold, I frown. She always knows when its business, though I do wish she would take some pleasure out of her work, not that she doesn't sometimes. What am I rambling about anyway. I can't change the way she is, She's just my Lucy. The greatest Femme in my life.  
  
"Merci beaucoup, Miss De vere." I hang up the phone.  
  
She was not helping me in my torture of the little mouse, but it may be fun to have her there. She has other more pressing matters, like writing the ransomed note. I want to mess with them a little, and she has a stronger way with words. Plus, this letter needs her calculated feminine touches, since I have a little game planned for the agency. She is such a sweetheart by volunteering to help me with my charade.  
  
This will be one of the funniest plans I ever had. I get to torture Eberts, Lucy gets to blow up some buildings, and we all have a great time. Except for the mouse and the agency, its not like they matter anyway.  
  
Eberts goes quickly to trying to see things out the window, after he hands me back the cell phone. He must be planning some petty escape attempt, (-or- maybe he thinks he will eventually see something.)  
  
I have heard the Irs were scheming weasels. You can take the man out of the Irs, but you can't take the Irs out of the man, isn't that what they say? Eberts is still quiet, good I don't really enjoy small talk anyway.  
  
A tan van passes us, a very bad looking van. Darn it was Hobbes and Darien, I hope they don't see Eberts. Its too soon for them to know of the kidnapping, yet, and what in the hell are they doing up so early, its only six fifteen  
  
I watch them from the rearview mirror. Wait, what am I a fool, I'm going nearly a hundred, I don't even think they can see us going so fast, and even if they see eberts, there is no way in this lifetime, that van can even go past sixty miles per hour. I keep both eyes on the road, and turn sharply to the right. I hear a loud slamming sound, Eberts going into the door again, this time it almost opens. Did he plan that?  
  
"Watch out idiot!" I yell as I hear a slight break in the seatbelts. I didn't turn that sharp, what is he trying to escape that way.  
  
I pull over to the side of the road, and get some rope out of the backseat. I tie it around his waist and the seat, he may not be that smart, but I don't trust that damn seatbelt. Stupid drug runner car.  
  
He eeps under his breath as I tie, and knot is one last time, extremelly tight I know, but that is the only way it works. And what kind of person eeps anyway?   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. ch. 6

Part 6   
Le souris en pain  
  
I eep loudly as he ties the rope sharply, almost crushin a rib -or- two. I didn't mean to eep, it's just something that I do subconciously. It had started out as college dare. I was dared to talk like a mouse all day, one saturday, I heard a mouse in the basement go eep, so unfortunately after eeping all day, I can't get the eep out of my system.  
  
I wonder who the person was on the phone with Arnaud, he seemed disappointed with them.Too bad, I could only hear his end. It isn't polite to eavesdrop anyway, and I don't need anything else for him to kill me for. I think the unfortunate fact I have so much security clearance at the agency is why I am his target today.  
  
I just want to go home, I definitely don't want to go to work. And I know if I manage to get out of this alive, I'll still have to show up for work as soon as possible, with very little time to recover from what ever Arnaud has planned. That's just the way the Official's evil mind works.  
  
I begin to daydream about when I was sent to France, when I was first hired onto the agency, I was suppose to negotiate with some high french men. (The official knows very little french) France is one of the most beautiful places in the world. While I was in Paris, as I was checking out one of the tiny bookstores on the left quai of the Seine, I had met this beautiful woman. She was from Brazil, her name was Eva, and those were some of the happiest days in my life. Why hadn't I ran away to Brazil with her? Why can I never act on these whims? I could be on a sandy beach, with this brazillian goddess, in a beautiful country, happy as a lark.  
  
What's wrong with you, Albert, you are about to die and all you can think about are beautiful women. Darien must be rubbing off on you. I wonder if I will see him -or- anyone from the agency again. They probably won't even care, except the official but he's probably replacing me as we speak.  
  
At least the ride isn't as bad as that one time when me and my friends were driving to Las Vegas right after college, an isane assylum escapee hopped into our car at a red light, and made us drive him to Reno.  
  
I hear Arnaud cursing in french. "We have an unexpected stop." He says pulling over sharply. He gets out, and the car shakes as he kicks the small car. He comes over to my side of the car. "if you escape, I will track you down."  
  
I hear him walk away,and decide to go back to my daydreams  
  



	7. ch.7

Part 7  
de car killing fohn  
  
"Stupid gas guzzler." I shout to the wind.  
  
I hear a car approaching, and thrust my thumb out, the american way for hitching aride, I hate that gesture though.  
  
A beautiful silver convertible pulls up besides me. I notice the driver is a one, Mrs. Alexandra Monroe, the newest agent at the agency. "Can I help you?" She yells at me but not in a friendly manner. I heard she was pushy, maybe I should have kidnapped her, she would have screamed louder in the end.I believe she has some German ancestory in her aubrun roots.  
  
I switch to a british accent. "My squiffy car ran out of petrol, could you take me to the nearest stop?"  
  
"Why not? Hop in." I climb in next to her, and she drives off. I notice her radio station is on to a Monkeys hit, what is their music stalking me, it makes me cringe inwardly. "What song is that?"  
  
"Last Train to Clarksville, The Monkees." She swerves around an old lady going slowly. "Learn to drive." She shouts to the lady.  
  
She drives worse then I do. She pulls violently into a gas station. I wait for her to stop, she doesn't. "You're stop." She answers impatiently. I jump out, almost skinning a knee, and she pulls away leaving a trail of dust.  
  
A guy in a suit is carefully filling up his gas tank. An attendant inside is asleep.  
  
The man in the suit walks to the dingy bathroom. I walk quietly behind him. He goes inside, and I pull out my swiss army knife, and cut off a near by waterhose, I wrap it around my arm loosly, I pull a .25 baby browning out of my pocket, and some electrical tape.  
  
As he gets out, I wave the baby browning in his face, and I strip him of car keys and wallet with one hand. The gun is pressed tightly against his left temple, but he still tries to struggle. I kick him hard in the groin, and he falls to the floor. I take a piece of tape and stick across his mouth, then tightly begin tying the garden hose around him. I close the bathroom door, locking it. I am starting to go to his car, I notice a pushbroom, I stick it under the handle of the door, use a piece of tape and voila, he can't get out for awhile.  
  
"Nice doing business with you." I say as I walk towards his car. I hop in, glancing over at the attendant who is forming a nice puddle of drool on his overalls. I laugh and pull away in his lincoln. I throw the tape, baby browning, and my knife in the front passenger seat.  
  
I get to the stupid Citroen in a few minutes, I should have just borrowed Lucy's Astin-Martin. I would not have had this problem. Well I can't use this suit anymore, oh well, I didn't like it anyway, it had a mustache on it that reminded me of Hitler. People aren't suppose to see I am evil when they first meet me, that is no fun. I grab the tape before I go.  
  
I pull open Eberts door, and put a piece of tape on his mouth. I reach around to untie the rope around his waist, then unbuckle him. I almost rip him out of the seat as I pull him out, the seat almost coming with him. He eeps again, its muffled through the tape though. I make him wait by the hood, as I get anything else out that we may need, mainly his briefcase and my cell phone.  
  
"We're switching cars." I say and drag him to the lincoln, by the rope still on his hands.  
  
"You get the whole backseat to yourself." I tell him, opening the door, and pushes him in. "Don't try anything."  
  
He murmurs something that sounds like "I won't." It probably is. I lock the back seat door, and close it, after I make sure he has moved his feet out of the way. I start walking towards the front instead of walking all the way around though, I slide across the hood. I do have to have some fun, and Lincolns have great hoods to slide across.   
  
I climb in the front seat, and away we go.  
  



	8. ch. 8

Part 8  
Le tossed about souris  
  
We're moving again. This time in another car.I think its some kind of town car, -or- contentinental, some car with more class than the citreon. I have more room now, but Arnaud is delibrately going over every single imperfect in the road. He may have even ran on the sidewalk a few times, and I think we ran over a bike. For now, I have managed to keep hold of the back of the back seat, I don't know how much longer that will last though, my shoulder is throbbing, my wrists have lost most of their circulation, and so my hands do not one to stay there, but lay helplessly by my side.  
  
Arnaud hits a large object, it must be another bike, and my hands give way. I land hard on the floorboard. Now my whole right side is in pain. I need some Scotch -or- Vodka, something so I don't have to feel the pain. I scramble to get back onto the seat. I   
I get almost all the way up, Arnaud brings the car to a screeching halt.(I thud harder to the floor, it makes the car shake a little.)  
I hear the squeal of other cars breaks as well. "Stupid Americans, making me of all people stop at a red light!!!" I hear Arnaud scream from the front seat. Then, I hear him say a string of french curse words.  
  
Why we are stopped, I take it as the perfect opportunity to scramble onto the seat, I buckled myself in this time. I do not need anymore stupid injuries, though I do think I will be getting worse injuries later, but they won't be something like falling on the floorboard. I am glad I do not belong to a savage roaming tribe, who believes pain is good, I can just see us around the campfire. "And how did your side get damaged little one?" "I fell on the floorboard." I can hear their laughter ringing through my ear, and it reminds me of The Official, Fawkes, and Hobbes. They probably are laughing at me. He got himself kidnapped by Arnaud, and he injured himself the most by falling on a floorboard. The seat feels soft, I feel as if I could sink into it. (that's another reason I believe its a luxury car.) It reminds me a little of my bed, which I wish I hadn't vacated this morning. Why hadn't it been my day to catch the stomach flu going around, not like I really want it, but it may have been better than this, but in a way this is exciting. If I am still alive in twenty years maybe I will laugh at this, I may even be laughing at it next week, if I am still alive.   
  
I turn to snuggle my face against the seat, it smells like vanilla perfume, it seems so cozy. I feel the thrust as he hits the accelerater. I am glad I can not smell the rubber on the tires. They are probably smoking. Arnaud has put the Bizet cd in again. The melody drifts through the air, and I can see myself, the excited chorus member watching patiently in the wings, and watching the magic eagerly. I love that Opera, and I am so glad I was apart of those few performances with the London Opera House, too bad it had to end. That was one of the best pieces I was involved in, in my brief stint in theater. Maybe I should go back to theater for a bit, if I get out of this alive. I know I will probably have to stop performing in plays after awhile, like the last time, there is too much The official demands of me at the agency. I close my eyes, and imagine myself on stage again, the bright lights, the smell of the stage makeup, the applauds of the audience ringing through your ears, no matter what part you had, the autographer signing with slippery palms and slippery pens on multicoloured paper, and especially the cast parties with the sweet sensation of the cork popping, and getting a nice bubbly glass of champagne. That's it I shall think of this as if I were performing in a play.  
  
When I open my eyes, I realize I had fallen asleep. My right side has gone to sleep as well, I don't think I will be able to wake it as quickly as I woke up though. I shake my head harshly, so I won't fall back asleep.  
  
The car comes to a complete stop. "We are at the last 'home' you will ever see." I winch as he makes the postive connotation of home, sarcastic.  
  
I try to unbuckle myself, but I can't feel my hands anymore.  
  
"Can't you free yourself?" He yelps at me angrily.   
  
I shake my head, "My hands are numb. " I mumble through the tape.  
  
He unsnaps the belt, and drags me out where I am standing. "What was that?"  
  
"My hands are numb."   
  
He tries to figure out what the mumbling could mean. It only takes him a second. "You're hands are numb, aye, well we do not need them to stop working yet." He unties the rope, and ties it looser. "Is that better, little mouse?"  
  
I nod.  
  
"Good," He pushes me in front of him as we go inside. He stops at a door, pushing me hard against it. I hear what sounds like him punching in a security code. We walk down a hallway, where we must bend down to get through. I find this out after I slam my head into the cool metal. Arnaud laughs a little behind me. We walk a little ways, then he pushes me against another door.I hear him punching in a different security code. It sounds like 007, the first one sounded like 261. I'll have to remember those. I am glad I have gotten so used to security beeps. Having been around so many for so long. I duck down as we go into the next hallway, he pushes me up. Obviously this isn't one isn't as small as the latter one. We walk for a bit more, then we come to another metal door, and yet another security code.  
  
This time the code is longer. It sounds like 77476637, crap I remember that from a detective novel I once read. the number corresponded with letters on the phone, now what did it spell out. PRISONER. I guess I am glad the code wasn't dead man walking -or- something to that effect. I don't think the other codes mean anything else, except 007 maybe a reference to James Bond. Arnaud would be the type to read/watch him, probably gets some of his ideas from there.  
  
I try to make out images, a person comes towards us, they have something in their hands, probably a weapon.  
  
"Hello, Mr. De Theil. Right this way." I notice the voice is feminine.  
  
We walk for a bit until we come to a small room. Arnaud removes the sunglasses. The room is small, with only a bed. "This is your cell for now. If you behave well, Miss De Vere will play her violin for you, from that room." He points to a large ajacent room, that I hadn't noticed. It is secured where I can't get out but they can get in.  
  
"But first, Mister Eberts, time for a little cat nap." I feel something injected into the back of my neck. The room goes black. 


	9. ch.9

Part 9  
De Scarecrown aand Mr. Fohn  
  
We place the sleeping Eberts on the bed. I debate whether I should put him on the warm covers, he may get cold, and I don't want him to feel uncomfortable unless I make him that way. Before I can decide Lucy speaks.  
  
"I will play my violin for him?" She asks raising a well manicured eyebrow. Her delicate hand going to her hip, How I wish I was her hip to feel her gentle touch. Her mouth turns into a deep frown, making of the aura of her face dangerous. How quickly she angers with me, when she is unhappy. I do hate her unpleasant.   
  
"You love playing your violin, and I did say maybe. Il est inoffensif, ma petite chou. He enjoys musique just as well as you and I." I give her a reassuring smile. I know how she enjoys me more when I smile.  
  
Unfortunately, this time it is ineffective. She is in her " I am on duty mode," which means she will be in a sour mood, and is using every mental blockade she has to resist my unresistable charms. "You can not really prove, le petit souris, is harmless. You should watch out for this one, the quiet ones always hide hidden talents. I have other matters to attend to." She departs quickly, without are usual warm embrace.  
  
She will hurt me if I get in her way, not like her other victims, but emotionally, by either giving me no affection, which seems to be her game right now, -or- too much love where I choke on it, like a fish does on the fresh air when he is out of water too long. I can play both of these emotional games far better than she can. (I have much practice) Unlike my poor Lucy who likes to drain herself of emotions, this tactic though it seems clever may be her demise. I do hope it isn't very soon though.  
  
I leave the tiny room. I can smell a hint of Lucy's parfume, and her tiny, well placed footsteps echoing off the metal floor. She seems to be walking out to her car.   
  
I frown a little, oh well, I need to get out of this suffocating suit. I turn left and open a door, that blends in with the wall. I walk down a small corridor, the smell of fresh lysol coming to my nose. Damn it, the housekeeper came early again, why does Lucy let her change her schedule so often. I come to a cherry wood door. I type in a security code. My real birthday.   
  
I open the door to a carpeted hall. I strip off the suit, it feels slimy, almost as a grinning cobra might when they molt.I want to skip in the fluffy, forest green carpet, but I have done that many times, and I will get addicted to it if I keep doing it.I go to the end of the hall to a metal door, and pull me out a small key from the tiny pouch on my side. The key is cold , and I presses it against my check. It feels great against my skin, I felt sweltering after being in that suit. I leave there only a second, because I need to open the door.   
  
This door opens until an ever growing small hallway.I crouch down and walk through. It winds in all direction like a labryrinth. I go left, and push into the wall, a door opens. I make my way inside, I need a diet coke. I going inside my lair to go get one. The phone is ringing. I go to answer it, the skin still in one hand   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello, dear brother."  
  
"Oh Huisclos." I drop the phone on the cradle accidently. "Oops, I didn't mean to do that." I chuckle. I walk to a bookcase, and pull slightly out an dilapidated edition of Charles Dicken's "A Christmas Carol", and the bookcase pulls away from the wall. I am now in my glorious Lab. I hear a soft hiss and humming noises. Lucy turned on the incarcerator on for me. I walk to the back and toss the suit in like old rubbish in a dustbin. 


	10. ch.10

Part 10  
What did a Tornado Hit?  
  
author's note: how I know you all want to hear the continuing adventures of Arnaud and Eberts, we do have another side to look at. I am not sure if it is a good thing -or- a bad thing, but I do not want to disapoint the VV and PBV and EJ and Sfans. This part skips a little head in the time, but the time will quickly be fixed.  
  
9 am  
  
I pace my office floor, driving a hole into it six foot deep. "Where is he?" I shout to the trashcan, sitting harmlessly next to my desk. Oh, great I am talking to trashcans, I suppose it could be worse. He's three hours late, okay if he was here he would correct me with a gentle "Two and a half, sir."He's never been this late, and he apologizes profusley when hes even a minute late. It not like him. I hope he's not hurt, lying in a ditch dead somewhere by a manic. I need him here, he knows the Fbi is sending us a case today. I need his help to review it.   
  
I decide to walk out into the hallway, maybe he is in his office. A security guard says a nervous "good morning" to me, I don't relic the fact he is afraid of me like most days. I give him a tight smile, and proceed on. I knock on the tiny wooden door. I do not hear his usual joke about "knocking any harder will break the door." I step into the office. It is a tiny office, with only a small desk, chair, a shoddy bookcase, and a computer. One of those small trolls dolls sets on the corner of one desk. He claims its so the desk balances out.It probably does, every piece of furniture in this room was bought at a garage sale. I look for signs of clues he's been here, but their are none. Maybe, he has finally left me because of this small cramped office. He wouldn't do that though, he rarely uses it. He mainly gets any information he made need from the computer upstairs  
  
I head back towards my office. Robert and Darien are lounging in the chairs in my office, Darien in my chair with his feet on the desk.  
  
"Hey Chief." When Robert says that he reminds of Jimmy Olsen on that new superman tv series.  
  
"What do you two want?" I take off my glasses and wipe them.  
  
"Just to see what's new?" Darien answers, smiling at me contently from my chair. He looks like he hasn't shaved in a few days, what does he want people to think our agents are badly dressed. I need to talk to him about that one day. Its okay on stake outs but its not like he is ever on any that last for weeks. I motion for him to get out of my chair. He gets up reluctunly, moving very slowly as he does it. He sits next to Hobbes  
  
I sit down in the vacanted seat.  
  
"That new Fbi case is coming in right, so where's Charlie Brown?" Hobbes asks impatiently.  
  
"I was going to ask you the same question." I raise an eyebrow.  
  
"What does this look like a game of Where's Waldo?.."  
  
I stop him from finishing as I glance at my desk. "What did you do let a tornado hit it, all the files are out of place!"  
  
"Hey, fat man, chill, chill, it was like that when we came in. And isn't its Eberts job to keep your desk straight."   
  
A slim woman with dyed blond hair walks in, manila envelope in hand.. "Hello, I'm looking for the Official." She reminds me of someone I know.  
  
"I am him,"   
  
Before she can responds Monroe walks in with a piece of paper. I summon for her to wait for the lady to finish.  
  
The blond walks toward me, "Here's your new case." She saunters off.   
  
Meanwhile, Alex is talking with Darien and Hobbes. I clear my throat. "You wanted something, Monroe?"  
  
"I just got this fax. It seems to be a ransom note." She says handing it to me.  
  
I look over it, It reads :  
"Official,  
I have your beloved Eberts.  
If, you want him back, I will call you in 2 hours.  
We will discuss fees and maybe his situation.   
He is in a bad predicement as it is.  
He may not be alive long enough to see next week.  
Talk to you soon  
- The Raven."   
  
"Did you trace the fax, Alex?" Great a psychopath has kidnapped my assistant.  
  
"Its a local drug store."   
  
Damn it. "Why don't you go down there, and see if you spot any supicous people." She nods and departs.  
  
I open up the manilla envelope, "And now for the case you wanted to see, Gentlemen."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. ch.11

Part 11  
Playing Post office  
  
Why am I the only one to find this wacko that has Eberts? What would this Raven person want with him, anyway? I am not saying Eberts has his uses, but there is no reason why he would be kidnapped. This post office where the Raven sent the fax, is unsuprisingly empty. Except for a lonely attendant, sorting through envelopes. I go up to his counter.  
"Who was the last person to use the fax machine?"  
  
"What? I can't hear you, let me put my hearing aid back in." I wait impatiently,. as he sticks the device back into his ear. "What was that Miss?" His voice is calm, yet scratchy. I wonder if the Official will look like that when he is that old. I resist the urge from laughing at this. I have no time for that right now, anyway.  
  
"I ask who was the last person to use the fax machine?" I say, leaning further against the counter. It seems like it one hundred and fifty degrees outside, and one hundred and sixty in here. Sweat is pouring down my face. I can feel the hair sticking to the back of my neck.  
  
"Oh, that thing, well, it was this young lady, about your age, she was purty like you except her hair was the colour of a raven, she reminded me of my wife. We got married in ninty forth nine, ya know, it was a purty ceremony. Flaurors ev'erywh'ere..." I stop listening at his horrible pronoucation of flowers. I begin to fall asleep, I hate when senior citizens decide to tell you their life story. I snap my eyes open.   
  
"Did you see which direction she drove away?" I ask, snapping him out of his memories.   
  
"She had a purty car, a blue one, british I think it was I think she drove off west, -or- it may have been east. Which way is that way?" He points a long, boney finger, left.   
  
"That's east." I answers.  
  
"Good, good."  
  
"Thanks." I say and head out towards my silver convertiable. So, the Raven is a woman, -or- does he have an assisstant? A blue British car, well there are only about 100 of them running around in Sandy Eggo. I move my car to a deep area, and cover it. I pull some sunglasses out of the trunk. I find a good hiding spot, I hope the Raven uses the post office phone , -or- I get to sit here for almost an hour and a half watching for nothing  
  
I call the agency to see what I should do incase of this. No one answers.  
  
They are so worried about that contamination case. I call up a few guys I know, I ask them to stake out some pay phones for me, looking for a woman with black hair, in a blue british car. They agreed to it eagerly. They owe me some favors.  
  
I open up my labtop, and do a little research on this Raven. They always leave a raven's feather at the scenes of their jobs, which they have pulled an awful lot of. I read this profile analysis on the Raven, they believe it is a male, because of all their advanced skills. It probably is a woman, I am one to know about being misjudged. There seems something else here though, it can't just be the Raven. Kidnapping is not part of her modus operandi, someone else has to be working on this. Who would have a motive to kidnapp Eberts.  
I look up his personal files, it says he lives with 4 housemates, he has a little sister, and an older brother, his mom is in a rehabilating therapy center with Melanoma, and his father is an ex marine, they all live in Sandy Eggo. Would they kidnapp him though? I look for other references to his name in the computer. I get several reviews about a jazz band called "The Ducks," and a few review for art exhibits. I never knew Eberts was an artist, -or- a musician. I wonder what instrument he plays. One of the articles catches my eye, "Jazz Singer, Albert Eberts, lead for the Ducks, does rendition of "Strange Fruit." Brings new deminsions to the song, almost as if he is the male counterpart to Lady Dye." Well that answers my question, I am suprised they would let the headline be that long though.They obviously don't know much about Jazz either, I do not think Billie Holiday was called Lady Dye, Lady Di, I thought. I know this and I listen to mostly sixties music. I check my watch, I have a while. Oh joy. I go back to researching Eberts. I find a picture of him in an art gallery opening. "The Artist, Eborts, with some friends at the new belverdere Art Gallery opening."I wonder if he was mad they spelled his name wrong, but that isn't my problem, the problem is he has about tweleve people he is chatting with happily. So, if hes an artist and a musician I have a lot of leads to track. I think I will start with his housemates. I do a search on the first one, Thomas Jaden, aka Jaden. He's and ice cream truck driver. He's probably driving around town. I'll keep an eye for ice cream truck drivers.  
I look up one of the other roomates, Benjamin Roberts, a reporter. I love talking to those people. I roll my eyes. I remember seeing is name a few times in the paper, he's the art critic. I relook at Eberts review. Wow, he was kind enough not to review his friend's paintings. I take a look up some of his articles, he does metion his housemate only once, when he is discussing contempary versus old world charm. He uses Eberts as one of the last and smallest examples of old world charm, it includes a small photo of one of his paintings of Notre Dame cathreal, in Paris. It is pretty good.(Maybe I will get him to paint me something for my apartment, it is looking a little dull.)  
I pick up my cellphone, and dial Roberts, at his Penisula Beacon phone number.  
  
  
  
  



	12. ch.12

Part 12  
Let the sunshine in, to warm my mousy fur.  
  
My eyes open reluctuntly, they want to stay closed, somewhere deep inside my cranum my brain thrust them open. The room is much darker now, I haven't a clue why. It does feel like I have been sleeping for days, I couldn't have been out that long, could I, and if so what evils have Arnaud done to me while I was asleep. I try to get up, but my limbs are dead as well to. I must have been out awhile. If not I wonder what kind of medical "wonder" have they injected into my system. I try to close my eyes again, they feel heavy, but they refuse to budge. I wait here, I can't move, maybe I am strapped down. I wish there was some light in here. I realize I am lying on a sheet. I must be on the bed, but how was I put here, and why? My eyes wander around the room, and I notice things have been added, a leadened, glass table,( which design catches my eye,I want to just trace my fingers along the delicate patterns,) a crudely sculptured representation of what appears to be Napoleon Bonapart on a high glass pedestal, and five -or- six plaster vases, of grotestque looking roses,on simillar pedestals to Bonapart, and two wicker chairs. Have these been added for my comfort? Are they suppose to appeal to my sense for good art, because frankly they are repulsive, it seems as if they were found at a garage sale, -or- some junk yard. I know some people go for that sort of stuff and will define their stunning beauty to the grave, but they repulse me, disgust me, and most of all frighten me, is their some alternitive motive for them being in the room, now?  
  
"Hello, Eberts," I heard A magnified voice call from every part of the room. I sit on my bed and search for it, though I know it is futile, I can not see an invisible wacko. I am unsure how to react to this. I wait a few second, and just stare at the wrinkled sheet below me, I had obviously tossed and turned in my sleep, like I normal do. I hear the voice again. "Hello, Eberts."  
  
I wonder if I play his game, he will leave sooner. "Hello?" My voice is hoarse and trembling, which makes me question what was in that syringe again.  
  
"Did you enjoy your Mousy Nap?" He says chuckling at his own joke.  
  
The sound of his voice is starting to hurt my ears, what has he positioned in here as amplifiers. The vases? I can't tell, I am not thinking straight, and my ears are starting to ring.(My ears ringing makes me want to start singing silver bells. I have no idea why though.) "It was okay." I murmur.  
  
"What was that Eberts?" He yells loudly, I hear static on the microphone, and I throw my hands to my ears in protest.  
  
"I said it was okay."  
  
"Good, good,...It is now seven thirty am, do you think the others miss you now?" Seven thirty it can't be, is he lying to me.  
  
"I...don't ...know." I begin to couch ferociously, it causes my ribs to feel as if they are caving in.Arnaud's laughter rings louder in my ear.I stumble to the floor still coughing, to muffle the sound a little. I think I may crawl under the bed,if I don't die coughing.I try to throw my hands over my ears to muffle the laughing farther but my arms won't move. They are trembling violently, as well as my whole body, as I continue to cough. I wonder if all my organs are trying to push their way out of my system, it feels like it.The coughing spasm stops, and tiny specks of light dance freely in front of my eyes, like faries dancing in a feild of flowers. A tiny beast begins trying to stab his way out from my left temple. Pound Pound Pound! I can just see him, he is small, and furry, and now that i get a better look, I realize he is not a beast but a mouse, me, my mind is trying to abadon ship, again.His tail writes around madly as he tries to stab his way out, the little red ice pick gleaming in his little paw. Pound Pound Pound! Maybe if I try that, not with an icepick, but with one of the new additions to the room, I can be free.  
  
Before I can enact this plan though I hear loud thudding footsteps, approaching me. I look up, in front of me is a man with a black uniform, thick black boots, thick black shoes, black jodphurs, and a black turtleneck shirt, all he needed was a black ski mask, and he would be ready to go mug some, fragile octogenerian. I start to stand up, but their is no need for that. He yanks me standing, using my pasiley tie.He almost chokes me with it, and I can see this hurly orangatan chocking me with it, after oh course pounding me several times on my head with his hair fists. He tosses me on the bed like I was a flimsy rag doll, I yelp in pain loudly when my back crashes hardly against the bed springs. The cland of the springs echos through the dusty air.I try to get up but he places a massive hand across my chest. I whimper. He draws his face close to me, I can hear his deep breathing, he sounds like a horse.Breathe in, neigh, breath in, then neigh.I clamp my eyes tight together, I can't watch whatever he will do to me.(Arnaud is starting to gigle hysterically.) I hope I am hallucanating, I pray I am hallucanating. I didn't just feel his reptile tounge against my check, and his silmy lips as well, please let me be hallucanating please tell me they gave me LSD. (Arnaud laughing becomes a wild, and amused titer.)If, he is going to do what I think he will do, I will die, my body will not accept me anymore, and I shall die here, maybe that is what Arnaud wants. I begin to shiver violently.  
  
The Man makes a deafening braying sound in my ear. Nee Naa Nee Naa. I believe that is his laughter. He removes his arm, and plants his heavy leg with a thud on my chest. He unhinges my right eye, holding it open, I try to squirm but I can't move, his leg is a dead weight against my chest. I hear him take something out of his pants pocket noisely. He fiddles with it a second with his free hands. He holds an oval thing above my head, and I watch as drops fall into my eye, they sting, and I cry out. I try to blink. He jerks my head up to make sure the drops go in. I try to pull away my head, to close my eye, to do anything. He throws my head back down, and the mouse goes at it again, this time he has a friend join him on the right temple.The chemical begins to blur my vision, I whimper again. He lets go off my eye, he is still holding onto my head, he smacks me hard open palmed, the oval still in his hand, nics my check.I feel blood begin to drip down. He yanks open my other eye, and repeats the operation he had performed on my other eye. Instead of smacking me a second time, He leaves. I try to rise but my body has gone paralysised. I feel as if every bone in my body has been crushed by his foot. The bitter blood drips, and to my mouth, and I force my self to sit up. (Arnaud's laughter has stopped by now.)   
  
I can't see. He put something in my eyes that has effected my vision. I can't see. "What did you to my eyes? I can't see!" I cry bitterly to anyone. I start to walk to the door. He put something in my eyes, I can't see. I keep hearing in my head. Then it starts a new message, since you can't see, how do you know you are going the right way. I don't know, I tell my mind. I try to remember the layout of the room, still thinking how do you know you are going the right way. I stumble over something, and crash to the floor, hearing glass and plaster, well that's one less vase to look at if I regain my vision. I feel blood dripping from new acquired wounds from the broken glass. I wonder if Arnaud has a smug grin on his snow tanned, Swiss cuckoo clock face. My right side throbs still, as do the two mice in my head. I close my eyes. I don't care right now, I just don't care right now. I drift into sleep again.  



	13. ch.13

Part 13  
Don't Tug at Superman's Cape  
  
The Office feels lonely without him here. Eberts should be here.Maybe if I should send more people out to look for him. Usually the Raven just kills people, hes a hired mercenary, kidnapping is not his M.O., why would he start now? And why Eberts? Who would kidnapp Eberts, maybe it is not a kidnapping, but maybe one of his bizarre pranks. I have heard from his old boss at the Irs, Albert was a joker, playing pranks on many of the workers. But he told me that childish was out of his system, -or- maybe he never really pulled those pranks, maybe someone else just set him up. He's never pulled pranks here, though sometimes he does joke about his office, but nothing else. I usually make him stay quiet.I wonder if I can afford to send Claire on the stakeout with Alex, but would she be able to catch up with her.  
  
I sigh.I miss him standing over my shoulder. He is like my guardian angel, -or- my conscience. He countacts my general bureacrate side that likes to screw with people sometimes. Its a part of every bureacrate, since people generally fear the government, and suspect the government of terrible things. We use that to our advantage. Though IRS men are generally thought of as weasels, and especially auditors, which Eberts was, one hearing he was from the Irs would think Eberts that way too. Eberts has very few weasel traits -or- bureacrat traits, he believes in ethics, and you won't distrust him like you would a lawyer, when he tells you this. I would suspect it on his general like for his mother, a painter, and distrust of his father, a ex marine and soon to be senator.( I have been a friend of Robert Eberts, his father, for years(this had nothing to do with me hiring Albert) and I do know how he loves to his negative traits, his marine and bureacrate traits, and Albert hates it.) Maybe I should call Rob, and ask him if he knows where his son is, though I don't think he would care much. That's just how Rob is, always preferring Lionel, and Susan to Albert.  
I'm drifting from my original thought. Alberts, Eberts I mean, is like my conscience, he makes sure we don't get too many unethical cases. Though a few cases have slipped by, that were purely unethical, and he could not stop me from taking them. For example, when Kevin Fawkes suggested we use his brother as the next guinea pig for the Invisible Man project. Eberts felt it was wrong to hire a convict for the government, he was very vocale about it. He felt we had another nuts with our other agents, and we do not need one who could easily reverte back to his old ways though. Eberts lost though, Kevin was his friend, and he cornered Eberts at lunch today, and pleaded with him to change his mind.(I had left them to decide.)Eberts agreed, if only one person befriends you out of all the staff excluding me, then you can't help to deny them simple favors like that for them, though they are a compromise against your values, I think that's how Eberts explained it to me. (The Agents have a non written "Do not talk to Eberts" policy, which had been instituted when they found out my assisstant was from the Irs.)  
  
I am going to go talk to Claire.  
  
I walk down the cold hallway, not looking at the ones scurrying away from me, I have my angry face on, I want to see how many people will think they will get fired today. I am actually just mad at myself, for only sending Alex, but they aren't suppose to know anything is wrong. I use my card to go into Claire's Lab. She is studying something in her high powered microscope, one of the only pieces of hightech equipment we can afford with our small budget. She looks up.  
  
"May I help you, sir?"  
  
"Yes, I was wondering if you are up to some field work?" I wonder if she will thinks its the contamination case.  
  
"The restaurant one?" She asks, raising an eyebrow, and pushing back some strands of honeycoloured hair.  
  
"I'd like you to help Alex." I hope she will consent, not like she really has a choice, but I do need more people looking for him.  
  
"Oh? Do I have a choice?"  
  
"Not really, "  
  
"I guess I can do it, the quicker we find him, the last damage I have to fix on him, I hope."She laughs dryly. Her eyes go to her fish, her voice is strange, that isn't really what she meant to say, I believe. I think she was trying to make a joke out of this uncomfortable situation but she knows it won't work.   
  
"I have the address where Alex is staked out in my office. We probably should call her first, so she knows your coming."   
  
She nods, and she follows me to my office. I hand her the address and she picks up the phone. An hour is left before the Raven will call.  
  
"Hello, Alex?" I try to listen to the other side. I can't hear anything."Yes, I will be joining you on the stakeout...okay... okay, I'll tell him."  
  
She hangs up the phone.  
  
I want to ask her what she said but I nod for her to go if she wishes.  
  
"She wants me to tell you, we will find Eberts." She departs, and I am stuck again with my thoughts.  
  



	14. ch.14

Part 14  
All the little ants are marching, Red and black antenna waving  
Albert Eberts is one of the funniest people I have ever help captive. He amuses me. How he squirms, he is afraid of many things. Obviously he is a good little boy, afraid of homosexual acts, that kiss Fernando gave him was enjoyable. Though if Fernando had had fun beyond that, it is not my cuppa, and I do not want to see it. They can have their fun, but not when I am watching the monitor. I have given the guards permission to have a little fun with our baby mouse, but they know they will be dead if they try something I do not have the stomach for. They know my rules.   
My gaze turns away from Eberts, lying in that pile of plaster, and glass, sleeping. He must still have some of the chloral hydrate in his system, I do hope he doesn't become addicted we do not need a captive demanding CH constantly. That may be amusing though, I think, as I watch some of my men, having drill practice outside. They look like little ants, though half of them are not in step. Do I have to go out there, and teach them to walk correctly, and all they are doing is simple marching right now, they need to know to walk in a group for impression when the time comes. They are pitiful, some of them do not even have neat uniforms, there black shirts hanging out of pants, bootlaces untied, ski mask on their head at crooked angles. I hit a small red button, an intercom to them outside.  
"What is wrong with you, maggots, no wonder you have been botching my plans. Anyone not dressed neatly, you have five seconds to fix it." They hurriedly begin fixing uniforms. "One..two..Three..Time's up." I hear some men start to protest. What has gotten into them they think that now that I am invisible they can do what the hell they want.  
I grab a latex suit, one that closely resembles what I look like uninvisible which Lucrezia helped me make from a wanted poster picture. I grab an AK-47, and march outside.   
I watch one of the one's still with his uniform in a bit of disarray. I lift the gun and fire, his limp body falls harmlessly to the hard ground. The bullet ricochets and hits the person behind him in the arm, the man doesn't flinch. At least some of them are learning.  
"What is wrong with you?" I wait for an answer.   
A new recruit speaks up quietly. "We aren't sure sir, things have been... " I cut him off, by pointing my gun at him.  
"This is a terrorist operation, it is not the time to stop acting like terrorists. Since you guys are obviously forgetting your training, you will all retake it." I begin to pace. I kick the dead man's body. "And because of this error, on your part, some of the assignments have to be postponed. That costs me money, and if any of you are delibrately costing me l'argent. You will experience far worse then this man. " I kick his body again. "Do not forget I have many tricks up my selve, and weak links will not be tolerated. Do you understand me?"   
"Yes, sir." They all shout.  
I turn to the one in charge, Felix, "Take them back to the training course, and if anyone is nearby, -or- on the course that isn't allowed, Kill them, and make the men bury the bodies, the find the bodies, and rebury them!" I march back into the building, cursing in french.  
I strip the skin in my office, but keep it near by, wearing it and stripping it makes me feel like that American Scifi Movie, DarkMan, is that what its called. Eberts is still sleeping I note on the moniter. The men are loading trucks to go re-train, and the rest of the perimeters are clear.   
The cell phone rings, it is an associate, Tomas Withers.   
"Hello, Tomas, may I help you?"  
"Just wanted to let you know, Fawkes and Hobbes are at the contamination site, and they have found the Raven feather I left for them."  
I smile. Lucy had been so kind to let me borrow her M.O. for this plan, she is such a sweetheart, I will have to reward her later. I begin to speculate, how long for the agency to figure out the Raven isn't really behind both of these acts. Maybe it won't be till after they get the torture tape, because they will probably notice my laughter in the background.  
  
  



	15. ch.15

Part 15  
My Funny Valentine  
  
"Sweet, Comic Valentine, You make me smile with my heart. Your looks are laughable, unphotographable, but you are my favourite work of Art..."  
  
The song goes pleasantly through my ears, as I listen to the deep baritone voice. Its dreamy in a way. I wonder if Eberts knows someone has put some of his music online. Its a track from a Cd they released. I never knew Eberts could sing so well, it almost makes me cry.And I just finished downloading it. Finding out all these things about him is strange, because he is the lost soul I used to dream about in college. The artist, who somewhat an outcast in some fringes of society, would understand a woman who is shunned by a lot of males because she has so many talents. Has he really been under my nose since I have been at the agency, and I never noticed. It has been so long since I discarded that dream, never having found my lost soul, but Eberts, he seems to be everthing I use to dream for, well on paper at least. I feel like crying again, and I have been making him feel uncomfotable, messing with him a little, so, as to confuse him on to where we stand. Maybe I should try to be friends with him, instead of ignore him. Oh what am I saying, its like a company policy to ignore him. I sigh deeply.  
  
I hear someone coming up behind me. I draw out my gun. "No need for that, Alex." I hear a british voice say behind me.  
  
It's the Keeper, good. I put my gun away. "Sorry about that I always have to be prepared."  
  
As I say that I hear, "..Each day will be Valentine's day, and a saxophone closing out the song."   
  
"That's okay," she glances at the computer, "who was that singing?"  
  
"Eberts." I tell her, and her eyes widen with suprise.  
  
"He has a good voice, I didn't know he still sang." I glance at her curiously. She seems to be remembering something.  
  
"What, you knew he could sing?" I turn my eyes to the phone, no one there yet.  
  
She sits besides me. "We went to high school, we didn't talk much, but we were on the debate team, and in glee club together. At our senior talent show, he suprised every one with a very spirited rendition of "In the year 2525."   
  
The song starts playing in my head, I love that song. "I thought he was a jazz singer, in the articles I found it only talks about jazz songs."  
  
Claire shrugs, "I don't know, I do remember him always trying to get Mr. Marchino, the glee club instructor, to get us to sing all sorts of songs, some were jazz, but some were also sixties rock, and other songs. Maybe he just sings Jazz now though."  
  
I shrug. I look at my watch, forty five more minutes. I hope he does just sing Jazz now, I have no time to be having petty school girl daydreams, about Eberts, especially when we are suppose to be rescuing him. I don't think I am his type anyway, he probably dates librarians.Maybe I am misjudging him.I hope that lady hasn't hurt him, we do not need any hurt agents, and I also wish he wasn't hurt, so when we get him out, he is able to help us with getting out of there. I do not think he, like most men, would like it if two women came to save him. Maybe I am wrong? I don't know, this is such a confusing situation, and neither of us really know what to expect. We can only expect the worse I guess.   
  
"Alex?"  
  
I turn towards Claire. "Yes?"  
  
"I am very unsure about this mission, how can we think of a sound plan to save Eberts, when we know so little about him."  
  
"I was thinking the same thing, I don't have a clue. Maybe we should call some more of the people I have found who know him. Maybe they can give us some clues." I say, I show her the small list of names I was able to find, the rest of his friends, if there really are more, can't be traced through this search.  
  
She reads the list."Lionel Eberts, isn't he one of those ambulance chasing lawyers , always on tv?" She says, looking up.  
  
I nod.I had forgotten to list how they were related "His brother. I haven't been able to get a hold of anyone on this list, except one of his house mates Benjamin Roberts, but he was paged out, and had to run before he actually told me anything."   
  
"Oh?"   
  
"Well we have forty four minutes left, I'll try the lawyer, and you can try .." she glances at the list. "Have you tried Charlotte Eberts?"  
  
"I don't know if I should, that is his mother. She is at a rehablitating center though, experiencing treatment for Melanoma. I am not sure if I should bring this news to her yet." I say, sweeping my auburn hair off my shoulder, and putting it in a ponytail.   
  
"Probably would be best to let her have some peace then. Check on her near last." Claire answers reassuringly.  
  
"I will try his sister, again." I tell her. She nods  
  
I pray his siblings are there, and can help us a bit.  
  
  
  



	16. ch. 16

Part 16  
"There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave"  
My eye's snap open, where am I? I can't see a thing. What happen to my eyes? Why can't I see? And how much did I drink to make this headache happen? I sit up, and rub my temples. I feel glass shards fall to the floor when I left my hand. The memories of earlier flash over me, I grimace in pain. The blood from my cuts stick to my wounds. I continue to rub my temples. I need to stand, but will I not run into anything. I think for a second, The obstacles all had a little space between them, but what if I slide a little from the original postion of the vase when I landed into it. I feel around where I am sitting, on the ground to find the bases of the vases.  
As I am going around to the third side, my left hand lands right on a pile of rubbish. "I should always remember I am a genius." I sarcastically tell myself,as a sharp piece stabs into my hand. I pull my wounded hand on my lap, and try to remove the fragments with my right hand. I pull out a piece of vase and throw it on the floor, I smile, when it shatters. I struggle on my feet, trying my best not to touch any sharp object as I pressed down on the floor with one hand to get up. I wipe myself off, trying to get all the pieces off my clothes. I feel a large piece sticking out of my right leg. I bite my lower lip, and rip it out. I toss that on the floor as well, I just hope I do not step on the later. I take a step out of the rubble.  
The room feels like its moving. I am glad I can not see it, I might throw up. My stomach is starting to hurt, and my head is pounding. Look body, I did not have had any alcohol in four weeks, why do you have to give me the symptoms of a hangover. I lean unto my knees.Please stop moving room, it isn't very nice. I pant for breath as my body finds new places to be in pain at. Tears start streaming down my face. I feel like curling into a ball, but I don't trust the ground. The pain in my temples spreads to the back of my head, and I drop to my knees. I let my hands rest. The pain is emulating from most everywhere, and there is need to favor one body part over another.   
They are all throbbing at different beats though, come on can't you guys get it together. I laugh. I am losing it, at least I haven't started talking to the vases, wait I was talking to the room, a second ago, I don't think its that much of a difference. I stand up woozily. Why do I feel so hungover? Maybe I can make it to the bed, to lie down. I lift my left foot painfully and slowly, I set it down gently a few centimenters ahead of where it was. Good, nothing so far. I do the same with my right foot. I continue like this a few feet, then I decide I should be okay to walk normally. That's when I smack right into the table, which leaves a giant gash on my leg from where it hit. "BOTTCHE!!!!" I scream. That one is going to hurt awhile. I inch away. I had been going the wrong way.  
Think, Albie, think, in which direction in the bed. I try to think but my brain is fuzzy, my eyes start to itch from the chemical they put in them. I rub them which makes them burn. "AHHH!" Bloody hell, what the hell was this stuff, and why do I have to be so stupid as to rub them. Idiot, idiot, idiot, I inch away from the spot where I am. My back hits something metal. The post of the bed, I made it. I scramble around, and crawl onto the soft sheets, curling up into a ball to wait the next calamity.  
  
  



	17. ch. 17

Part 17  
We can Be Heroes  
  
We are coming down to the wire, to use an old cliche, only twenty minutes to find out if we were staking out the wrong location.(I had checked my connections at other phone booths around town, they are still there, and promise to stay there till I get the word,) We have both become quiet now, no more phone calls to relatives, and friends, no more checking his information on line, just sitting. I am glad it is only twenty minutes, I have been on longer stakeouts, and I could handle that, if it wasn't for the circumstances. It feels weird finding out all these things about Eberts. Things with the way I have been acting towards him, I would never know. Maybe I should try what one of my teams had suggested, when I see her on her way, have Claire go over and use the phone, but we couldn't hold her on anything, well not yet.   
  
The long wait during a stakeout is what I hate, and the last few minutes seem the hardest. This is the time if you haven't done it before, you must be perfectly still. I hope the official is hooking up the tracking device to the phone like I told him. Though we may not need it. Going through the information on Eberts, I still don't know why this Raven wants him. He is just a quiet little person, and he never hurts anyone, though he does have bouts of mental problems, though we all do, and he pretty much keeps to a small group of people, none which could be considered bad. Except maybe his ambulance chasing brother, -or- his ex-marine father , there would be no reason to kidnap him, and send the ransomed note to the agency. Maybe, it isn't about eberts, maybe their is an alternitive motive but what.  
  
I peer through my binocluars at the phone booth. It is old and dilapadated, the red paint chipping off. Why would the raven choose it? Why would she have choosen the post office, that post office is very little used, and is about to be closed. Why a very little traffic place?My thoughts are interrupted, Claire's cell phone rings.  
  
" 'Ello..." Claire rolls her eyes. I can hear the deep voice on the other side."I need a shot."  
  
"Darien, I am kind of busy, right now!" She raises an eyebrow, and looks around for some leaves to crumble next to the phone.  
  
I hear his laugh, "Hey Darien, do you know I can hear you on the phone?"  
  
"I know, anyway, I need you both to listen. We found a raven feather at the contamination site."  
  
That's the Modius Operandi of the Raven, I wonder if the cases are connected.They can't be connect can they.If, so what is the connection? Does it have something to do with the agency? What exactly would this raven person want with the agency? Maybe another group is involved. Chrysallis? De Fohn? If so which one? And what personal vendetta are they setting out against this time?  
  
"Alex? Alex, you're spacing out!" Claire puts the cell phone back in her pocket.Her brown eyes, looking through binoclaurs, are turned towards the telephone booth.  
  
"Sorry, I was just thinking of something. What did Darien say, after I spaced out?" I laugh nervously, like I am joking. It sounds foreign to me, maybe she won't pick it up though.  
  
She doesn't turn towards me. "Nothing much, except, they have the tracer on the official's phone, so we can find the location if not her, and they are going to run all The Raven files to see if they find anything simillar to these two cases."  
  
I nod. "Sounds good." I murmur.I glance at my watch, ten minutes left to go. Hopefully, after that I can grab a bite to eat, and figure something out from there. 


	18. ch. 18

Part 18  
Blood at the leaves, and blood at the root.  
  
Five minutes, only five minutes till he calls, and we can make a deal. -Or- will we? Maybe He has already killed her?Alex has this feeling that the Raven is female, because a female faxed the message. She would think she was. She doesn't know very much about criminals.Kidnapping are usually done by males, and assassanations, which the Raven specializes in, is always done by males. I do admit female do have their strong points, but they have too many feelings, and motherly instincts to be assassions.It would never work out, they could never last as long as the raven has in the field. Women aren't strong enough to overtake men and kidnap them.Alex underestamates her gender, if she thinks they can do that. The Raven has to be a male, a very insane male.   
  
I begin to tap a blue pen against my desk. The ink leaks onto my hand. "Stupid pen." I grumble, and take my handkerchief out of my pocket and wipe my hand, and toss the handkerchief and pen in the trash.  
  
I don't think The Raven is a chick, I can see the Raven working with a female, to help get a foot in to some places, but their is no way The raven can be a woman. If so, I am Superman.Why would a woman kidnap Eberts, unless she was working for someone? I do not think an exlover of his would kidnap him and send the ransom note, if that's what you can call it, to his work place. That would be the least likely place to look. He hears heavy footsteps and cursing in the hallway, and Robert Hobbes telling someone to calm down. More cursing, and Darien Fawkes yelling for the cursing one to star sixty nine reality. Rob has decided to come pay me a visit, but now is not the time. At least, I don't have to worry about Eberts trying to find a hiding space.  
  
The three enter my office, three minutes left on the clock."Hello, Rob, nice for you to visit, I am very sorry I do not have the time right now for visiting." I comment dryly, I start taping a pencil.  
  
"I came to have a little laugh." He comments, he sits. I notice Darien and Hobbes standing in the doorway to hear this.I will let them watch, as long as they keep their mouth shut.  
  
"What do you mean by that?" I know what he means, I just can't believe that.  
  
"You know what I mean, I want to hear the person who is holding Albert hostage." Rob smiles.  
  
"Robert, he is your son, I know you dislike him because he is so much like Charlotte, but now is not the time for you to make fun at his expense.You have other children, why don't you go hang out with them." I glare at him.  
  
He laughs, hoarshly, that's what he gets after thirty five years of smoking. Darien and Hobbes watches this in amazement.They must not have expected this, but I did. "You are no fun sometimes, Charles."  
  
"I am no fun, if my kids were alive, and one of them was taken hostage, I would not come to his work place, to laugh at the person holding them hostage, and give them a pat on the back!" I yell at him, standing up from my desk.   
  
"Your kids were better trained than mine, Charlie, they had good military blood." He answers.  
  
"I do not have time for this." I answer. The phone rings, and I sit back down and pick it up.  
  
"Human and Health Resources." I answer.  
  
  
  



	19. 19

Part 19  
A little trick I picked up on a late night movie  
  
Aww...pauvre petit souris is curled up on his little bed of sawdust, darting his little, blind everywhere as if he expects to see something, eventually. I find this highly mirthful. It is great entertainment, watching people under stress. "Hello Eberts." I say cheerfully as I step into his room.  
  
He cowers away. "Ahh petit souris, you aren't ready for your torture yet." I step closer to him."Pauvre souris, shall I have someone stroke your fur and make you better, -or- do you bite?" I laugh merrily at my own joke. He doesn't find this amusing and slinks away a bit more. He shall surely fall off the bed if he keeps up at this rate, that may be very amusing to watch, I may let him. But we have important business at hand, it is not time for him to be formulating a plan. I grab the rope around his wrist, and yank him off the bed. He almosts falls into me, but I catch him before he does. I do not need bruises from this idiot. I especially don't need him pushing me into one of the lamps.  
  
"You had jewish relatives during world war two, this shouldn't be a problem, a little torture, it will be over in a flash." I laugh evily at him. He doesn't find that amusing either. I pull him towards the door. I wonder if I can make him march.   
  
I push him in front, "Forward March!!" He bows his head for a second and begins marching.  
  
"Welcome to death row, " I tell him. I begin shouting "Dead Man Marching!!! Clear the way, Dead Man Watching. " The few employees left at the complex, smile at this, they find it almost as amusing as I do.Plus, I know I look highly evil in this Hitler costume I found. I feel dandy, I can just skip. (Ever heard of such a thing as runner's high, well, mes aimes, I am experiencing torturing high. If you have never had this feeling, it is hard to describe. ) I march Eberts out of the building to a smaller one adjacent. It has been designed especially for when we were to get experiments like this. The screams will echo nicely.  
  
I take him to a small room. I greet my employee, Benard, he gives me an a-okay sign, meaning the razor is ready.I nod. I leave Eberts standing in the small room, with Benard. I need to go check on the audio setup.  
  
The machine with the large, and expensive audio devices is one of my favourite rooms. Edgard, my techguy, is waiting for me. "Le problem ne marche pas!!!" he says excitiedly. I do wish he would learn his french correctly, I do not have the time to give him another lesson.   
"Quoi?" I raise my eyebrows at him, knowing the costume is doing it as well.   
"Oh, pardon, monsieur, je parle anglais. I vas able to solve the problem from earlier. " He says, giving me a little bow.  
I wonder if I can afford to kill him next, his asian politeness, (he is not asian, that's one of the reasons)and his forgetfulness of french is getting on my nerves. He's is valuble at this moment. I will have to find a new tech guy first."So, we can videotape it now?"  
"Si, Si, è tutto il pronto" He babbles in his native tongue.  
He should be glad I learned Italian growing up. "How many hours of tape, did you get?" I have to stop my self from saying it as "Combien de heures de videotape, as-tu?" He would probably just stare at me confused, with those large italian eyes. He will have to be retrained as well. Maybe have his brain reprogrammed where he speaks only french.It can be done if necessary.  
"Quindici...I ..uhh...fifteen."  
"Bien, Bien." I nod my head, and depart. Borden gets to actually watch it now that shall be fun to watch. I hope Lucrezia is on schedule, and is calling him now.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	20. ch. 20

Part 20  
You don't believe in war, but what's that gun your toting?  
  
I don't like this room. I can't really see it, but it feels stifled. I feel stiflied, and I believe I shall be sick, the room is spinning, and I have no ideas what terrors lie ahead. I have a feeling I will get a slow and painful death. I feel that is how Arnaud likes it. He loves to see people suffer. My thoughts drift to my mother.  
  
My sweet mother, I hope she is alright. She probably hasn't been told yet, which is good, unless The Official told my father. It will break her heart, her son being kidnapped. She already has enough trouble with this illness, and the impending divorce. I am sure my father is laughing at this, laughing at her. Her artist, good for nothing, son managed to get himself kidnapped. The son, she had pleaded for him to years, to love, as he has so many people reject him already. The son, he knew was rotten, who would never amount to much, and would always be someone's punching bag, someone's little gopher. The son who painted "indecent pictures" and would the most likely be a drug addict, if he wasn't already.Now, I must die, before I can prove him wrong, though even if everyone in the world told him I had outstanding qualities, and deserved the love he bestowed so generously to Lionel and Susan, he would laugh in their face. He knew his son better than anyone he claims, "My son is a failure." he would proclaim proudly.   
  
I am not a failure, I am not the little mouse, I am not any of the wrong perspections people have of me. I am human and I do make mistakes, and I have sinned, but I did not the belittlement I have always gotten, and I definetly do not need it now. I am going to die, I must face the fact, I am going to die. I may not be able to do much, but I need to look death into the face, and declare myself, "Not a coward!" before I go beyond this world.  
  
The room is cold, the hairs on my arms stand on end. I stand still, I will wait, Arnaud has left to go do something. I must remain calm, and thing of the few good things I was able to secure in my life. I think my biggest happiness is my paintings, the paintings which my mother taught me to do when I was a child, oh course I have surpassed her teachings, but paintings has always been my escape into my reality, and away from everyone else's reality. I wish I could paint one last picture, but it is not the time for that. It is the time to except the circumstances and events of what will be next.   
  
I hear Arnaud's footfalls,as he sets back into the room. "Why hasn't he been strapped to the table, yet?" He says harshly.  
  
The person standing next to me coughs. "I...I ..I was waiting for you."  
  
"Will you get him on the table already, we are getting behind schedule." Oh, great, he had mapped out my death.  
  
They walk me to a examing table and the push me down unto it. I take a deep breath, as they put on the tight leather straps around my ankles, and wrists. I hear a whirring of an electric razor coming to life.   
  
"His clothes are still on him, you fool, turn it off now. I hear the sound of fabric ruffling, as if some was shrugging. I hear one of them, Arnaud I believe, take something out of his pocket. I hear him opening it. It must be a knife. (I find it interesting how my other senses have picked up now, but why didn't they early when I first went blind, before I hit the vase.) He unhooks the straps off my wrists, and pulls me up, ripping off my jacket, and tie. He pushes me back onto the table, restraps my straps. He slings my belt off, making the end hit me hard in the mouth. He begins cutting off my pants. Well, I was right. They leave me in my boxers.  
  
"I thought we were...."Arnaud's lackey stammers.  
  
"No, I have changed my mind, Maybe later." Arnaud snaps.  
  
The razor is turned back on again, the razor touches my chest and I winch. Arnaud slaps me, "Stay still." His ring cuts gashes my check. I almost laugh, as I imagine my brother if he had got his check cut like that, he would be whinning it doesn't match with his perfectly blond hair. They have finished shaving a small circle into on my chest, and they make another one across from it on the other side of my chest. It stings, but I have a feeling it will get worse. I close my eyes, and breath calmly, as they shave one circle one on each arm, and then one on my inner thigh. Sweat has started to pour down my face.They place suction cups on each of the five circles.   
  
"Welcome to stage one of your death. I will ask you a question, and if I don't like the answer, you get to see what this little machine does. " Arnaud tells me, as if I can see it. I can feel him breathing over me. I don't really want to know what the machine does, and glad I cannot see it.  
  
"Since, I have lost the questions for levels 1 and two of this round, I will start with level three.Here is your first question. What do you know of the agency."  
  
"What exactly.........AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!" A wave of electricty floods through my body, emulating from the five sensory points. It last for eternity it seems, but it may have only been a few seconds. I feel a cold sweat begin to drip heavily on my body. My whole body tingles. I hear a small metallic click as he turns the wave off. I shut my eyes, and wait quietly for the next question. I have to figure out a way to answer the questions his way, I don't think I can stand many more eletrical currents like that. How am I going to answer the questions right, I don't know, I try to think. I can't answer them, I can't my mind has abandoned me, I can't even remember my name right now.  
  
  
  
  
  



	21. ch. 21

Part 21  
Its a trap.  
  
The mission I have chose to accept is somewhat dangerous to my usual operation. I am suppose to get caught, which is something I never planned to do. Arnaud says it will work ingeniusly.I do hope in the end, this whole thing will amuse me, as much as it amuses him. I pull my Astin Martin into the post office parking lot, where I had sent the fax, I figured someone is nearby watching me. I wonder who they sent on this stake out mission. Maybe if I am lucky it is Fawkes, and Hobbes and I can have some fun beating the crap out of them before they take me in. Though I have a strange feeling, its Monroe.   
  
I go up to the phone booth, and pull out the note I am suppose to read. I know what it says, without opening it, I memorized it, but I have to make this look like I am the poor helpless dame, being threatened into doing this. Not an act I usually like to play, but I know it comes in handy sometimes.I pick up the phone,unfold the paper, and begin dialing the number.Someone picks up on the first ring.  
  
"Human and Health resources." I almost laugh, The "big bad" Official sounds a little nervous.  
  
"May I speak to Charlie.....Gord...Gordon?" I pretend to have a trouble reading the name.  
  
"This is Charlie Bordon. May I help you, miss?" I can just see him tapping him pen, impatient he may miss his phone call from the raven, he probably presumes is male. Stupid chauvinistic egos.   
  
"Umm...I have a message from ...the Raven...if you want your assistant come to Pine and.... Hillcrest."I hear someone walking up behind me.   
  
"What is at Pine and Hillcrest?" he asks.  
  
"I...I .. not sure, sir...just relaying the message." I hang up the phone, and the person behinds me, grabs me by the shouler, and spins me on my heels. I come face to face with Monroe, and kick her strongly in the chest. She falls to her knees."Can't a person make a phone call."  
  
"You're under arrest." Monroe says, recovering quickly. She snaps handcuffs on my wrists.  
  
"For what?" I wonder if I should struggle with her, for a real show, but I remember Arnaud wanted me to go quietly. I will for the most part.This is all an act, I can not get out of character.  
  
"Assisting in kidnapping."  
  
"I was just making a phone call, he made me do it, he's holding my father hostage, he said if I don't call this guy, who is the boss of the other bloke he kidnapped he would kill him." I begin to sob.I really wish Fawkes had been here, it may work better.   
  
"Come on!!!" she says and drags me to where the keeper is waiting, behind Alex's silver convertible. Alex pushes me into the back seat, and we take off.  
  
I do hope Arnaud is having lots of fun, torturing Eberts, I will be highly disappointed if he is not getting humour out of this whole situation.I could really use a fag right now, but I can't reach my gold case, with matching lighter.I know if I try to reach for them in my coat, I will have guns pulled on me yet. Monroe is trigger happy I heard. That would ruin the whole thing if I got myself shot, and Arnaud would not be happy.This car is cramped, I shift postions and start crying again, mumbling foreign phrases but every once in awhile saying something audible in english, like 'I'm going to jail for something I didn't do,' 'I can't belive this is happening,' and other such foolish phrases.  
  
We park in front of the agency, and I am "escorted " in side by my two "bodyguards." Monroe's perfume clings heavily to my nose, she would just be the type to buy awful smelling, and cheap perfume. The floor sticks to my designer heels as I walk, they probably haven't washed it in years, and the exhausting heat of the building makes my short, dark hair, and expensive pants suit stick to my skin.  
  
We walk into Borden's office, Darien and Hobbes are leaning against the filing cabinets, a man, who appears to be Robert Eberts, is making jokes with Hobbes, and The Official is sitting behind his massive desk watching us."Is this the little messenger girl?" He asks smugly. Rotten pig.  
  
"Yes." Alex says and shoves me into a chair, so I will sit down.  
  
"So, where is Eberts?"   
  
"I do not appricate being treated this way I am a citzen of the United Kingdom. I demand you pay me the proper respect I deserve."  
  
He laughs.  
  
...To Be continued in the sequel  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
